


The Tale of the Trickster and the Red Dragon

by daeneryssed



Series: confessa's widojest week 2020 cornucopia [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff and Humor, I am proud of myself, Widojest Week, ayyy I have a title this time, fairytale AU, that I thought of on the spot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25146115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daeneryssed/pseuds/daeneryssed
Summary: Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there lived a tiefling, whose tricks, good heart and determination would help her brave the terrifying Red Dragon and save an a cursed empire from an evil king.[prompt three: Fairytale OR Any Alternate Universe]
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Series: confessa's widojest week 2020 cornucopia [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820233
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56
Collections: Widojest Week 2020





	The Tale of the Trickster and the Red Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> This fic...really got away from me. It was supposed to be a short, sweet fairytale written in a traditional fairytale style. As I wrote, and wrote, and rewrote, and edited for the hundredth time, I realised that fairytales are HARD to write. 
> 
> SO this is the best I could do. It's not perfect, but it was fun to write and learn :D 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a young blue tiefling named Jester Lavorre. Now, Jester was not just any other tiefling. Sure, she had their signature curved horns, long tail, colourful skin and small fangs, but Jester had something _more._ You see, Jester was friends with a powerful archfey, named the Traveler, who had granted her the power to use _magic_. 

Jester loved to play tricks on people with her magic. She was the most mischievous creature! She would paint pictures where she should not, switch the tags of goods in stores or spin fancy (and definitely false) tales to clueless travelers. And there were _so many travelers_ , for Jester lived in the port city of Nicodranas, famed for its colourful festivals, bustling docksides and array of merchant stalls. 

The Traveler loved it. “Chaos,” he preached, as he silently floated beside her, invisible to all but her, “absolute chaos. The world is so _boring_ without it and we are here to create a little fun, are we not?” 

“Chaos!” repeated Jester, and like this she lived her life. So long as no one was harmed, surely it could not be so bad? 

Jester learned the difficult way that it _could_ be bad. One day, she chose to play a trick on a visiting nobleman, who had been attempting to woo her beautiful mother by spouting bombastic words which Jester could see were little more than empty platitudes. She sat there in the living room, bored, watching as this very boring man bored her mother too.

Marion Lavorre may have been too polite to turn him away, but Jester was not. 

When her mother left the room to fetch more tea, Jester sidled up to the stuffy man. “Lord Sharpe,” said Jester, smiling widely at him, “do you know that our balcony upstairs has the most glorious view of the Lucidian Ocean? Do you want to see?”

Jester knew that a proud man like Lord Sharpe never gave up the opportunity to boast about his wealth. True enough, he turned his nose up at her and snootily responded, “Well, I am sure it is nothing compared to the views from _my_ estate. Show me and let me tell you all about what you are missing.”

It was the perfect plan. She guided him upstairs, down a corridor, into a guest room and out onto the balcony. 

“Ta da!” she said, throwing her arms wide against the backdrop of the Lucidian Ocean, sparkling blue in all its glory, the horizon peppered with dozens of ships as they sailed in and out of the busy port. “Is it not beautiful?”

Lord Sharpe sniffed. “It is perfectly serviceable. Now, from _my_ estate, you can actually see over the tops of these buildings and even Tidepeak tower. It is a truly unblemished view of the great ocean-” 

Preoccupied as he was with his own boastings, Lord Sharpe did not notice Jester slowly, quietly back away from the balcony, her fingers casting a spell to silence her steps. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she brought his trousers down and slammed the balcony doors close, the lock clicking in place. 

“Got you!” she cried, cackling gleefully. In her ear, she could hear the laughs of the Traveler. It was almost drowned out by the panicked, angry shouts of Lord Sharpe, who was struggling to yank his pants back up. The street below the balcony was very crowded and soon Jester heard the laughter and chatter of the passers-by below. “Serves him right,” said Jester. Bad people deserved to be tricked. 

Sadly, it so happened that this bad person was in a position of power. Lord Sharpe was so incensed that he threatened to throw Marion out of the chateau and execute Jester!

“He can’t do that!” cried Jester, aghast that her little prank had had such dire consequences. 

“Oh Jester, he can,” said Marion sadly. “He says that he will not forgive us unless we fetch him the teeth and scales of the Red Dragon itself. Of course he knows that we cannot do this.” 

The Red Dragon was a fabled creature who supposedly lived far in the north, deep within the Dwendalian Empire. The Empire was the kingdom that bordered Nicodranas. It was ruled by an evil mage-king and was overrun by all manner of creatures of the darkness that ransacked its villages and pillaged its farms. A tale told by many people was that the Red Dragon’s death would herald the fall of King Ikithon and release the curse that plagued the Empire. None, however, had ever been able to find the Red Dragon. 

“I will do it,” said Jester, “I will go north and fetch this- these teeth and scales.”

“Jester, no!” her mother protested. “It is a fool’s errand. I will not lose you to the cursed Empire!”

“You will not lose me, momma,” said Jester, “for I have _magic_ and the Traveler with me. He always wanted me to travel. Today, I will do it. I will make up for my mistakes, momma, and I will make things right.”

And so, packing up her things, buying a simple axe and a shield to fight with, and hiring a wagon and a cart to travel, Jester set off with a tearful goodbye to her mother. 

“Three months,” said Lord Sharpe. “If you do not come back in three months, your mother and I will marry and you will lose your head!" 

Jester stuck out her tongue at him. She would save her mother! 

  
  


Compared to the sunny, tropical climate of Nicodranas, the dank, cold and perpetually overcast skies of the Empire were not a welcome change for Jester. Everything in the Empire appeared bleak. The towns lacked colour and vibrancy, and its people trudged around as if the burdens of the world weighed heavy on their shoulders. Jester longed to use her magic to cheer them up - it was not just used for tricks; it could be used to make people happy too - but the Empire limited the use of magic unless you had a royal permit. She didn’t want to get caught and thrown in jail. There was an oppressive amount of crownsguard garrisoned at every village and town that she passed by. They already eyed her suspiciously, for tieflings were rare in these parts. 

“They protect us against the beasts,” explained a tavern owner in one of the villages that Jester stopped by. “Until the dragon is killed, we have little cause to celebrate.”

Jester hummed into the cup of milk she was drinking. “Do you know exactly where the dragon stays?”

“People say he lives in the Dunrock Mountains. No one has actually seen him.”

“And if he dies, the curse will be lifted?”

“That’s the story. Legends say that the dragon is actually a man, transformed into a dragon after he committed a heinous crime. King Ikithon sentenced him to death. But the man made a blood pact with the god of darkness, Tharizdun himself, to save his own skin. Tharizdun twisted his words and saved him by turning him into a dragon, and the land has been cursed ever since. Unless the King’s sentence is carried out, the curse will remain.”

“And people have tried, right?”

“Of course, but no one can find the dragon. Or if any have, they certainly have not managed to kill him.” The tavern owner sighed. “We have long since given up. We have lost all hope.”

That was the saddest thing to hear. Before Jester left town, she secretly painted the picture of a open doorway on one of the walls of the tavern - the symbol of the Traveler - only a bright light shone through. She hoped it raised the spirits of at least one person. 

  
  


It took a couple weeks more of travel before the Dunrock Mountains came into view on the edge of the horizon. They were a series of large, spiky crags that looked like mountains that had been torn apart. The tallest ones had their peaks hidden in the clouds. It would take Jester so long to find the dragon and she wasn’t even sure if he even existed! 

Jester made a pit-stop in the village of Blumenthal, which lay right at the feet of one of the mountains. Here she could refill her supplies, leave her horse and cart at a stable, and get a good night’s rest before she made her way into the mountains. It was also a chance to find out more about the dragon. 

“Have you seen the dragon? Do you know where he is? Do you know if the legends that say he is a man are true?” she asked around.

Unfortunately, many of the villagers were unwilling to speak to her, eyeing her tiefling features with anything from curiosity to discomfort to outright alarm. “People are so racist,” she complained to the Traveler, who patted her shoulder consolingly. 

“I know,” he replied. “We shall paint so many pictures before we leave the village.” 

Cheered up by this prospect, Jester turned onto another street and began her questioning anew. As she roamed the streets, she came upon an old beggar woman asking people for money. She wobbled about, back hunched over and the skin on her face sagging so much that her eyes were barely visible. “Alms,” she croaked, holding an old torn hat out, “a little bit just for some bread.”

Feeling sorry for the woman, Jester skipped over and dropped a generous amount of gold into the hat. 

“Thank you, my child,” the old woman said in surprise, looking up at her. “It is not common to see such a generous offering these days. People can’t afford it.”

“I wish I could help more,” Jester said. Throwing a quick glance over her shoulders to make sure no one was watching, she used a spell to quickly mend the torn and weathered hat. With purplish energy, the threads of the hat weaved back together until it was whole again. 

The old woman’s eyes looked at her shrewdly. “A magic user, rare in these parts, and banned by the king. He hoards all arcane knowledge for himself. Tell me, why are you here?”

“Oh, I am looking for the red dragon.” 

“Ah, looking to kill him?”

“I don’t know,” Jester replied honestly. Remembering some cupcakes in her bag, she quickly dug them out and handed one to the woman. “It’s a little stale but it’s still nice! Anyway, I only need some scales and teeth to save my momma. I don’t like to think about killing anything. Maybe we should just think about breaking the curse, since _technically_ the Red Dragon would _die_ then right? And be replaced by who he _really_ is.”

“And you think you can find him?”

“I have to try.”

“What if the Red Dragon doesn’t exist?” insisted the old woman, “Maybe the story’s true meaning is that the curse would never be lifted."

“I _have_ to find him,” Jester said, voice determined. “I have to save my momma. I have to make up for the mistake I made. I can’t give up. I have to _try_.” 

The old woman’s eyes seemed to gleam a strange blue. For the first time, Jester noticed the symbol of the Archeart hanging around her neck. When she spoke, her voice seemed...younger. More ethereal. “I have been waiting for someone like you. A person of kind heart, determination and hope. The people of these lands have long lost all three, having suffered so much as they have. You are exactly what this Empire needs.”

“What?” said Jester, confused.

The old woman only smiled at her. “Listen carefully, child, for I shall tell you a secret that has been lost to the sands of time. Bren Aldric Ermendrud is his name, a boy who lived in this town. Speak his name, and you will uncover the truth and rid this Empire of its evil.” 

“Bren Aldric Ermendrud,” repeated Jester under her breath. A shiver went up her spine and images of flames and the silhouette of a young man appeared in her mind. A blink and it was gone. Looking back down, she saw that the old woman too was gone, as if she had never been there at all. 

“The gods work in mysterious ways,” whispered the Traveler in her ear. 

Jester didn’t question it. After all, who was she to judge, with her invisible friend next to her?

“Bren Aldric Ermendrud,” she repeated. “Bren.” 

  
  


The next day, Jester set off with refilled rations, a thick coat for the cold weather, climbing equipment and a cat. 

The last one had nothing to do with the quest. It was just that a cat had begun to follow Jester after she spoke to the old woman and Jester could not bear to leave him behind. “I shall call you Frumpkin,” she had told the cat, scritching him behind his ears. He had purred loudly and remained by Jester’s side since. 

Jester searched the mountains high and low for the Red Dragon. At first her spirits were high, feeling like she was on an epic adventure with the Traveler and Frumpkin. As time went on though, she began to worry. She only had three months to retrieve the scales and teeth. She was running out of time!

“This is no good,” Jester told the Traveler. “We can’t keep searching. We have to draw him out.”

“How do you plan to do that?” asked the fey, floating beside her. 

“With what we do best,” said Jester mischievously, “a little bit of spectacle.”

Fingers dancing in the air, Jester conjured up a giant lollipop with purple, pink and white swirls and a giant red bow on its stick. Rising high up through the forest canopy, it began to hack away at the top of the trees, scaring off a number of birds. Surely, that would be a sight to behold, a giant lollipop chopping tree branches off. 

Then, deciding to go even further, Jester cast another spell to amplify her voice and boomed, “Helllllooooooo dragoooonnnnnnn. Hellooooooooo!! Are you there, Brennnnnnnn?”

More birds fluttered up into the air. 

That should count as speaking his name. 

She continued this way for many days. The thought of her mother, waiting for her back in Nicodranas, pushed Jester forward. 

“BREN ALDRIC ERMENDRUD!!!” 

First, it sounded like the distant rumble of thunder. Then, it sounded like an explosion nearby. A few seconds later, a terrifying roar pierced the air. Jester’s heart nearly popped right out of her chest! The Traveler turned to her, an excited smile on his face. “I think we found the dragon.”

Jester dove into a bush just as a massive shadow coated the forest in darkness and a gigantic, red-scaled dragon planted itself but fifty feet from her. The bushes practically flattened under the powerful flaps of his wings and a spiked tail swiped several trees out of the way. Peeking through an opening in the bush, Jester saw a gigantic head turning this way and that, looking for the source of the voice that had just a minute ago been calling for him. 

“Where are you?” she heard the dragon snarl, his voice deep and low. “Come out, if you dare call for me by my name.”

Steeling herself and making sure her axe and shield were properly secured and ready if needed, Jester stood up and stepped out of the bush. Out in the open, she saw the dragon properly for the first time. He was larger than she could have imagined, rising up over the canopy of the trees. He might be able to eat her whole. As she stepped out, his eyes snapped towards her. 

Despite her terror, Jester nearly gasped in wonder. The dragon's eyes were a brilliant blue, as blue as the Lucidian Ocean.

“You,” the dragon snarled, steam puffing out of his nose. “Are you the fool that called for me?” 

“Uh,” Jester began, “Yes? I’m not a fool though. I’m Jester.” 

The dragon lowered his head near her and bared his teeth menacingly. His voice, when he spoke, almost sounded like it had the Zemnian accent common in the northern regions of the Empire. “How do you know my name? No one has called me that in over a hundred years. Did the King send you? Finally here to finish the job?”

“No! It was a magical old woman who told me,” replied Jester, for she could be honest to a fault sometimes. 

This of course did not appease the dragon. “Do not lie to me!” he snarled, steam puffing out of his nose in anger. 

Now, it just so happened that little Frumpkin, whom Jester had forgotten about, had wandered up to the dragon while they spoke, too small to be noticed and cat's feet totally silent. He stepped right into the path of the jet of steam and yelped out in pain. 

Jester's heart jumped to her throat and she rushed forward, yelling, “Stop! You’re hurting Frumpkin!” yelled Jester.

Surprisingly, the dragon jerked back, a look of alarm on his face and - as he noticed the little cat at his feet - guilt? 

“I- I’m sorry,” the dragon said. Jester could hardly believe it. The Red Dragon was _apologising_ for hurting her _cat_. “I did not see him there."

Surely a bad, evil dragon would not care about the life of a tiny cat, right? And he hadn't tried to eat her or attack her yet. Jester's thoughts went back to what the old woman had said: speak his name and uncover the truth. What was the truth? 

“Were you really once a human, Bren?” she asked. 

The question raised the dragon's hackles again, although this time no steam came out of his nose. “Explain how you found that name,” he demanded once more. 

“A magical old woman told me, _I swear,_ ” said Jester. Feeling emboldened by the dragon’s willingness to engage in conversation, she pressed on. “She told me your name. She said I would know the truth. She held the symbol of the Archeart. I don't know if that means anything to you. But I _swear_ , I’m not sent by the King. I am only here to save my mother.”

“Save...your mother?” 

“Yeah, I have to fetch your teeth and scales in order to save her from something stupid that I did. I would never forgive myself if something bad happened to her. I have to fix my mistake.” 

The words appeared to have an impact on the dragon. His piercing blue eyes - so human-like in their gaze - turned pained, then softened. “There are teeth and scales at my lair that have fallen out that you can take back,” he told her, his deep rumbling voice less scary now. “If what you say is true, I can take you there.”

Jester’s heart soared. She would be able to save her mother after all!

“You can ride on my back,” the dragon told her.

“That’s all right. I have some special skills!” she replied excitedly. She waved her hand and with a boost of the Traveler’s magic, she turned into a little bluebird! She fluttered around the dragon, chirping happily. 

The dragon gave her a deadpan look. “Are we to leave your cat here then?”

 _Oh no!_ That was stupid. Before she could turn back into her human form and pick a more appropriate form that could carry Frumpkin, the dragon - Bren - lowered his head gently next to the cat’s head. 

“Climb on,” he told the cat. “And hold tight.”

Jester’s heart melted. 

  
  


The Red Dragon’s lair, Jester discovered, was a cave hidden cleverly behind a grove of tall trees on the mountainside. Just as he had promised, there were a number of teeth and scales scattered throughout the massive cavern. She would be able to bring more than a few back with her. Jester could hardly contain her happiness. If she travelled really fast, she would make it back in time! 

“So, are you human, Bren?” she asked him, as she secured the scales and teeth. 

The dragon, who had been carefully using one claw to play with Frumpkin, glanced up at her. “Yes,” he finally replied.

“And did you...did you really do something terrible? And you were sentenced to death? And that’s why you made a pact with Tharizdun?”

“Tharizdun?” the dragon asked. He burst into a series of bitter chuckles, which really just sounded like the booms of thunder in the closed cavern space. “In a way, I suppose. I trusted his agent, the _king_ , trained under him as a wizard. It was a pact that sealed my fate. He trapped me in the form of this beast. It was a spell gone wrong, because someone...someone saved me. He had not meant to turn me into a _dragon_.”

“The king did this?” asked Jester. “Why?”

“My parents were agents of the Empire. They found out that he had been trying to release Tharizdun from his shackles. He- he needed them killed. I came back to Blumenthal to try and save them. I- I was too late. Then he framed me for their deaths and sentenced me to die too. He couldn’t let the truth get out: that _he_ is responsible for the monsters that had begun to plague this land. He tricked me, tricked all of us.”

Jester’s heart now broke. Tricks were meant to make people laugh, cause a little mischief, never to _hurt._

She looked at the bundle of scales and teeth at her feet. Then she looked back at the dragon, no, _Bren_ , who was cursed in the form of a dragon, who was playing with Frumpkin, who looked so _sad_. 

“I’m going to save you,” she declared. He looked at her in surprise. “We are going to defeat the King and rid the lands of this curse.” 

Bren's expression turned sceptical. “The king is a powerful wizard. He had always been hungry for power, doing anything to get it.”

“Well,” said Jester, smiling at him, “I have a very powerful friend too. You can’t see him, but he is with me always. Now, are you ready to do this? I have a plan. For the first time in my life, I think I have a plan.”

  
  


Step one of the plan: Jester used her magic to transform Bren into a weasel. He gave an indignant squeak once he realised what he had been changed into but otherwise made no attempt to resist the spell. Next, she made a beeline for Rexxentrum, the capital of the Empire. She only made two pitstops to paint large, bulbous mushrooms on the side of two buildings before she left the village. A little present for being mean to her. She also drew some googly eyes on them, because she understood that as unfriendly as the people were, they were suffering too and deserved some laughter. 

The magic required to maintain Bren in his weasel form drained Jester and left her exhausted at the end of each day. Bren appeared to notice this. On the second day, he draped himself around her neck, his soft fur a comforting warmth to her aching body.

“Thank you, Bren,” she said, absent-mindedly turning to peck him on the top of his head. He gave a little squeak and dropped his head, as if embarrassed. “You are the cutest,” she told him, laughing. For the first time, she wondered what he looked like as a human. She should have asked that before she transformed him into a weasel. Her magic could only transform him into another animal. It would be so much simpler if she could turn him into a human. 

The guards at the city gates gave her horns and tail a second look but did not bar her from entering. The presence of the crownsguard was even more oppressive here. The city might have been beautiful, with its glittering marble buildings and cobblestoned roads. However, as with the rest of the Empire, its people seemed tired, trudging through the streets with slumped shoulders and haggard expressions. 

The castle where King Ikithon lived was smack in the middle of the sprawling city. Its grey walls towered over the rest of the buildings, the intricate, elevated walkways and numerous pointed battlements and spires filled with patrolling soldiers. 

Step two of the plan: get into the castle. This part of the plan went back to her very roots: a trick. It was borne from something Bren had told her about the King and from her own experience with Lord Sharpe. 

“We have to offer him what he wants,” said Jester, relaying her plan to the Traveler while Frumpkin and Bren sat on the bed watching - and no doubt thinking she had gone mad, talking to thin air. 

“What do you think?” she asked, once she was done talking. 

The archfey’s smile under his hood was wicked. “I think it is _absolute chaos_.” 

With his stamp of approval, Jester got to work. It took her the better part of the morning to procure the exact type of lamp she was looking for: a long curved spout, a handle on the other hand, plated with gold. It needed to be perfect. She also bought two pink ribbons and tied one around each of Bren and Frumpkin’s necks, giving them a peck on the top of their heads. “You will be part of the act, too,” she told them. “Wish me luck!” 

It might have been her imagination, but Bren’s little weasel ears seemed to have turned pink. Frumpkin only meowed. 

She waited for the relative cover of evening before making her way to Castle Ungebroch where the king resided. Bren and Frumpkin was perched on each shoulder, she was dressed in her most colourful green and yellow outfit, and her pink haversack hung from one shoulder. She looked very much like an exotic magician who wafted in from some distant port. 

“I am the famed Jester Lavorre of Nicodranas,” she told the guards at the castle gates, “I am here to see King Ikithon. I have a very special, very magical lamp here!”

“We have people peddling these sort of stories all the time,” the guards replied. “Go away.”

“Oh, but this is indeed a magic lamp,” she said, taking out the lamp. “Look!” 

With a flourish, she rubbed the side of the lamp, chanting out nonsensical, rather improper incantations in Infernal as the puff of purple smoke began to rise out of the lamp. Translucent vines began to form in the air, twisting this way and that, before giving way to a towering, floating figure of the Traveler. 

The guards nearly fell over in shock. 

“See!” cried Jester, pointing at the Traveler. “This is a magical lamp. This is the Traveler and he can grant you any three wishes that you desire. Now, tell King Ikithon that I have come to make a special deal with him.”

The trick worked as expected. The guards eventually returned and brought her into the castle, through long hallways that twisted this way and that, until Jester passed through a set of wooden double doors into the throne room. Jester’s heart was beating terribly fast now. The throne room was massive. It was decorated in ominous colours of black and blood red. At the back end of the chamber, on a single raised platform, seated and surrounded by a retinue of guards, was King Ikithon. 

Bren bristled on her shoulder. 

“I present to you, Lady Jester Lavorre of Nicodranas,” announced a man to her right. “She comes bearing, er, a magic lamp.”

“Come forward, child,” said the King, beckoning her with one spindly finger. 

The King was very old. His skin was pockmarked and yellow with age, stretched thin over his bony features, as if he might fall apart if whatever magic was holding him together was broken. His greying white hair flowed past his shoulders, brittle and slightly unkempt. 

“You claim to have a magic lamp?” he asked her, his voice sly and eager. 

“Yes,” said Jester, “I have a magic lamp. Shall I demonstrate it to you?” 

The Traveler appeared with even more of a flourish this time, accompanied by small fireworks that lit the top of the chamber. The people in the room gasped with fear and delight. Jester barely stifled a giggle; he was so _dramatic_. 

The King sat back up straight in his seat, eyes widening at the spectacle before him. “Who are you?”

“I am an ancient creature of the fey, bound to this lamp, able to grant you powers that you have never even imagined before,” rumbled the Traveler, his voice deeper and louder than it normally was. “Whoever shall hold his lamp shall hold my power.”

Jester raised the lamp in her hand high. “I hold this lamp now, great King Ikithon! But I am willing to make a trade. I will give you this lamp and the power of the Traveler, if you agree to break a curse.” 

“What curse do you speak of?”

“The curse that you laid on the Red Dragon of the Dunrock Mountains. The curse that you have laid on these lands.”

“What an accusation to make!” the king said, his mouth curling up a sneer. “All lies!” 

“Do you want the lamp or not?” asked Jester, holding it aloft. The Traveler hovered above her. “Tell the truth, King Ikithon, and infinite power will be yours.”

The king’s eyes gleamed with greed. For a few seconds, he appeared to battle within himself - a few seconds in which Jester waited with bated breath - before one side finally won out, just as expected. “All right, little tiefling, I admit it. I am responsible for the curse on these lands. Tharizdun promised me power and wealth and I took it. Bren’s parents, pesky people! They found out. I had them silenced and I need to have Bren silenced. If that cleric of the Archeart hadn’t interfered, he would have been dead. Instead, he was turned into a red dragon.”

“So, will you release the curse?” insisted Jester. She was aware of the people in the room listening. They needed to know, need to spread the word of what the king had done. 

“Give the lamp to me, and I shall break the curse for you.”

Jester made a show of considering his request, before bowing her head and handing the lamp to him. The king grabbed at it hungrily. His eyes shone with crazed glee. “Excellent.”

“Now, release the curse!” 

The King snickered at her. “As if I would. With the power of Tharizdun and this lamp behind me, who shall be able to stop me? You, on the other hand, have brought magic into these lands without royal permission. Guards, arrest her and throw her into jail.”

Jester had thought this might happen. As guards began to stalk towards her, she dropped Bren to the ground and dismissed her spell. 

His tiny form began to shift, and twist, and grow. A thunderous roar filled the space as a flash of light momentarily blinded the room. Screams sounded in the air. When her vision cleared, a massive red dragon filled the throne room, barely fitting into the enclosed space. The top of his head and the ends of his tail pushed into the ceiling and walls, which had already begun to crack under the pressure. 

King Ikithon had retreated behind his throne, eyes wide with shock. “You are here!”

“I am, Trent Ikithon,” roared Bren. “For a hundred years, I have been trapped in this form. You have told lies about me, blamed me for the horrors the people of this land have suffered. It was all _you_.”

The king's laugh was low, maniacal. “So what? Tharizdun is behind me. I shall not fall.”

“You are only mortal,” Bren snarled. The cracks on the ceilings began to grow. 

“A powerful mortal! Archfey, attack him!”

Of course the Traveler did no such thing. He only laughed. “Mortal, you are blinded by greed. Your soul is black.” 

“Fine then, guards, attack the dragon!”

No one dared to do anything though. Who was fool enough to attack a huge red dragon? The king backed away, eyes now looking panicked. Above, a few more cracks appeared. 

“You will have to kill me,” the king told Bren. “Will you do it? Will you murder me? Finally gain revenge?” 

Jester looked up at Bren. His blue eyes were full of anger, and hatred and-- and sadness. 

“You were once my master, Trent,” he said, his deep voice sad. “I once admired you. You thought me many of the things I know.”

“Do it,” seethed the king. “Kill me.” 

Jester didn’t want Bren to look any sadder than he already was. It took only a second to make her decision. Her magic was spent, but she still had her trusty axe. Gripping it in one hand, she turned and rushed towards the king. She would do it; she would kill the king for him. If that meant sparing him from any more pain. 

A massive crack sounded above them. A few pebbles fell. Jester looked up to see that the ceiling was now broken into a mosaic. A mosaic that was fast falling apart, and falling _down_. Screams and shrieks filled the hall as it soon began to rain debris. 

The last thing she saw was a large piece of rock growing larger and larger right before it hit her head. 

The last thing she heard was a man yelling “Jester!”.

Then darkness. 

  
  


When she came to, Jester was in a comfortable bed. Bandages were wrapped around her head and one arm was in a sling. Frumpkin was curled up against one side. Next to her bed was...a man. Slightly older than her, with reddish-brown hair tied back in a ponytail (with a pink ribbon, she noticed), a dimpled chin and bright blue eyes. He was reading a book, unaware that she had awoken. 

She knew immediately who he must be. 

“Bren?” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

The man jumped in his seat, book dropping to his side. Frumpkin woke up with a indignant meow. 

“Jester!” he said, eyes wide. “You’re awake! Let me get you some water.”

She caught a bit of his tunic before he could leave her side. “Are you- are you Bren?” She had to hear him confirm it. 

The man paused for a moment before smiling, wide, happy. “Ja. Ja, I am Bren. Bren Aldric Ermendrud.” 

And oh- _oh- his voice._ Accented like the Zemnians in the Empire. More pronounced than it had been in his dragon form. 

“Hi, Bren Aldric Ermendrud,” she said, smiling too. “I’m Jester.”

They smiled at each other for a while; her, too happy to look away, and him, apparently feeling the same. At least until she was overcome by a hacking cough. He did rush off then for a cup of water, which she accepted gratefully. As she drank, he explained how the king had been killed by a falling rock, breaking the curse on Bren. 

“I was so afraid the rock had killed you that I barely even noticed the change,” admitted Bren. “It had been so long since I had heard my own voice.”

Jester wished she had been there to see the change. She touched her heavily bandaged head, which was still throbbing painfully. “How long have I been out?”

“Seven days, two hours and about forty minutes.”

That was an oddly specific answer, one she made a mental note to query him. The more pressing concern was: “A week?!” she shrieked. “Oh no! I have to make it back to Nicodranas. I am super late!” Jester shot out of bed, before swaying on the spot as lack of food caused her head to spin. 

“Don’t worry,” said Caleb quickly, reassuringly, drawing her back to bed. “I have magical powers. I can transport you right back to Nicodranas in an instant. Rest so you are well and we shall go save your mother.”

“We?” asked Jester, hope blooming in her. “You’ll come with me?”

“I have to teleport you there.”

“Oh,” said Jester, spirits slumping again. That was what he meant. “I see.”

Bren chuckled. Jester's ears perked up: it was the first time he had laughed. It warmed her soul and made her heart beat faster. “I will be staying too, if you will have me.”

Jester was sure her heart would burst from happiness. She shot out of bed again, into his arms and give him a kiss on the cheek. His ears, much like in his weasel form, went pink. “Of course Bren!" she told him, "I will always have you.”

And so she did, until the end of her days. As promised, he brought her back to Nicodranas, where the story of how a blue tiefling and her archfey companion had tricked the king, broken the curse on the Red Dragon and saved the Dwendalian Empire had spread far and wide. Marion was overjoyed to have her daughter back, Lord Sharpe was left powerless to hurt her, and Bren was able to find a new home. 

Like so, they lived happily ever after. 

  
  
  



End file.
